


Say "So Long" [One-Shot]

by jatty



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 17:37:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard doesn't know if Frank has forgotten that he's still there--watching the horror and ready to take care of the mess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say "So Long" [One-Shot]

**Author's Note:**

> Written in First Person, Gerard's POV

All I can hear are his screams and sobs, and I wonder if it’s all I’ll ever hear for the rest of my life. They echo in my brain and are memorized against my will, playing over and over even as new noises are made. The cries are so agonized, so painful just to hear. I can’t imagine how badly he must be hurting.

“Frank,” I try to say to him. My voice breaks, making the name hardly comprehensible. He doesn’t stop weeping except for to pant or cough—coughing making him double back over onto the muddy, damp pavement of the filthy alley behind the closed bar. “Frankie,” I try again. 

He tosses his head in my direction and moans in his anguish. Neither of us can stand, but Frank can’t even lift himself from the cracked, rough ground. He’s laying on his stomach, trying damned hard to move but only succeeding in hurting himself more.

It’s not like him to cry or to scream. Just the sound is killing me. Every gasp of pain, every whimper, every drawn-out groan kills me. Frankie is always so strong and resilient. He never falters, he never cries… It’s not fucking fair that someone could do this to him and leave him in a state like this.

“Frank,” I whimper, fumbling towards him. I don’t think I’m injured, I think I’m just in shock. I can’t stand up, it’s like I don’t have any legs. All I want is to reach him, but every time I try to close the distance, it’s like he just gets farther away.

I just want to hear him say something. I want him to cry my name, or even curse it. I want him to speak a word of hate to me—anything to stop his cries.

_I wanted to go to the bar. I just wanted a drink so fucking bad. There wasn’t any beer in the apartment—I needed it. I hated myself—I hate myself._

_Before we even got inside, they grabbed him. I didn’t even see at first. I didn’t notice until I’d passed through the door that Frank wasn’t behind me. When I went back outside, there was a gun at my temple and I was led into the alley where Frank was trying to fight._

_He was hissing and growling like some sort of beast, throwing kicks and punches that were either deflected or received without response. There was a gun pointed at him and he didn’t shudder._

_There were four men, and they’d saved the strongest to control me. I thought we’d just be robbed—it wouldn’t have been the first time—one of them had even flashed Frank’s wallet as he stole it from his jeans and replaced it in his own pocket._

_“I don’t like his attitude,” one of the monsters said. “We’re gonna fix it. You’re gonna watch.” When I try to react, they organize themselves. Two of the men holding Frank restrain his arms. The third points a gun at his head._

_Frank and I lock gazes for a moment and I start to tremble. What do I do? It’s all I can think. What do I do? What do I do?_

_I want to believe that they’re just messing with us and that they’ll let him go, but they aren’t._

_While Frank is distracted, one of them punches his face. As he falls to the side, another kicks him so he stays on the ground._

_“You fuckin’ move and we blow his head off!” The man is speaking to both of us._

_I tried to lurch for Frank when he falls, and the man with the gun to my head reminds me of its presence. He puts it to my temple and pushes down on my shoulder with one hand until I give in and drop to my knees._

_I should fight more… I should try harder… But if they kill him because I fail—because I’m weak—I’ll die of heartache long before they could ever shoot me._

_Frank fought a little less when he saw the blood-thirsty look on my captor’s face. I think they like that he fought… I think they liked listening to him scream curses at them as they stripped away his shoes and jeans. I think they liked the hurt in his eyes when he saw me crying as I tried to think of something to do…_

It’s like he just grows louder and louder, even though he’s not being attacked anymore. His voice is getting raw, his coughing is getting harder, and I’m so afraid that he’s going to pass out in this filthy place before I can get to him. I know that the sleep would end his pain for the moment, but the thought of him falling still completely alone scares me.

What if he’s forgotten that I’m here? What if he thinks I left him to die? I need to reach him before he faints so he knows he’s not alone.

For the moment, Frank found something in himself. His last screaming sob died off into a series of determined and terrified sounding pants. He grunts several times, his body going still and then jerking forward. 

He’s trying to stand.

Each motion extracts a grunt and a muffled cry from him. Slowly, he’s pulling himself back together and, slower yet, he’s getting to his feet. 

I’m so afraid that he’s going to fall. 

As he kneels on all fours, one of his limbs continually giving out and threatening his balance, I lurch towards him. Every part of me just feels numb, but the distance between us closes.

With a high-pitched shriek that goes silent as he tries to express his pain, he pulls himself onto his knees. One bloody hand remains planted on the ground, helping to keep him from toppling over.

My beautiful Frankie cries out with so much misery as he shifts one of his legs forward to where he kneels on only one knee. His entire body trembles as he tries to muster the strength and will-power to move the other leg. 

“Don’t,” I whisper, envisioning him falling and losing all of the dignity he’s throwing together. Frankie is so beautiful and so strong. Even like this, beaten, used and bloody, he refuses to stay down. He won’t give in like his body wants to. He won’t give in, and I can’t let him fall.

He groans loudly—a sound ending a loud wail—as he tries to jolt onto his feet. 

He can’t do it. My baby can’t do it. He can’t stand up.

But I can. 

With no balance, with no grace or elegance, I reach him just in time. Frank falls onto me when his knees give out, and he only reaches the ground because _I’ve_ stumbled. 

I keep my arms wrapped tightly around his middle, holding his face against my neck and nuzzling his wet, dirty hair. At first, he shrieks because he doesn’t know it’s me. One of his hands beats at my chest feebly and then falls away as he sobs.

He cries something out against my shoulder and I begin to rub one of my hands up and down his back where I hope he isn’t hurt. I just want to comfort him. It’s my fault he’s here, it’s my fault he’s like this…

I know what he’s said.

“Kill me.”

_“Oh, please, Gerard! Please! Oh, God! Let them shoot me! Please!_ Please! _Let them kill me!” There are three of them on him. Two are holding him while the third forces himself inside Frank’s body again and again. He’s the third one to have him while the fourth assailant makes me watch._

_There’s a gun to my head and another trained at Frankie’s. They’ll kill him if I don’t watch him bleed._

_Between his legs, blood is just draining. With each thrust from the thug between them, blood spatters the pavement._

_He screams for help—for the first time from someone other than me. He begins to scream, just scream after that. Wailing, sobbing, groaning… They laugh at him. They fucking laugh at him as he bleeds by their hands._

_What did he ever do? What did Frankie ever do? He doesn’t deserve this! If there is a God, please believe me. He doesn’t deserve this! Make it stop somehow. Save him._

_I’ve never prayed for anything harder in my life._

_He screams for help once again and the men laugh. No one who hears is going to get involved. No one wants to meet the same fate._

_“Please stop,” I whisper, barely audible over my friend’s cries. I try to drop my head, feeling sick for the hundredth time at the sight of the blood and the jerky, repetitive motions. “I’ll do anything.”_

_My keeper grabs my hair and forces my head back up._

_“You want him to fuckin’ die, fag?” He sneers. I try to look away again—this time from Frankie’s pleading face._

_He wants to die. He wants them to shoot him so the pain will end, but I can’t let it happen. I can’t, I need him. I’m so selfish… Left like this, he’ll never forgive me if he lives._

_“Please,” Frank cries, his small body shuddering beneath the three men. “Please stop.” He knows it’s useless, yet he still begs. They’ve broken him in so many ways…he’ll never recover… But I won’t let him die here. Not like this. Not with them holding him in their hands._

“I’m sorry,” I sob into his hair as I hold him tighter. He moans in pain and I loosen my grip. His entire body is shaking and so is mine. “Frankie, I’m sorry.”

He cries against my chest, his head constantly dropping lower and lower.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, please,” I beg his forgiveness even though he’s too distressed to speak again. All he can do is shiver, bleed, and sob. For the moment though, he’s no longer screaming.

“Gee,” he moans suddenly. I fall silent, trying to stop my shaking breaths just to hear him. “I’m cold,” he whimpers in a voice so raw it’s heartbreaking. “Gee, I’m cold.” I try to hold him closer, but he starts to push away from me. Once I relax my hold, he falls against me heavily. I scoot closer to him, willing all of my body heat to transfer to him. I wish I’d worn a coat that he could wear.

_“Want me to shoot him? Want me to fuckin’ shoot him, fag?” They’ve finished with him, leaving him facedown in a bloody, screaming mess. “Want me to shut his goddamn mouth for good?” Frankie whimpers into the pavement, it sounds like the world ‘please.’_

_I turn my head away. I can’t look anymore. Watching them tear him apart has shredded my soul. Would it be kind to let him die? He’s hurting so badly… He’ll never recover. He’ll have nightmares, he’ll have scars…_

_But he’s so beautiful. So full of love and compassion… He can’t die here. My baby can’t die here._

_“You want us to shoot you, slut?” One of the other three men mumbles in Frank’s ear as he lies on the ground. “You wanna die, whore?” Frankie sobs and nods his head, scratching his face on the cement._

_“No!” I cry out, a sob strangling me. “Don’t hurt him anymore!” They pass each other looks while Frankie continues sobbing. Words are passed between them, but I focus more on what Frankie is trying to say._

_It kills me that I can’t hear the words._

_They start to shuffle away from him and my captor shoves me forward in Frank’s direction._

_Frank shrieks in agony as one of them kicks him where he is afflicted as they walk by him, exiting the alley. His cry becomes the most mournful and haunting sound I’ve ever heard as it melts away into tears._

He doesn’t scream anymore, he just shudders and hiccups against my chest. I want to pick him up and carry him home, but I’m too afraid that he’ll fight me and make me drop him.

“Frankie, we can’t stay here,” I say with a shaking voice. He makes a sound and trembles. “You need a doctor.” I gather myself and try to pick him up. 

When he screams, I cry out loud in fear and release him. He falls away from me, once again lying on the pavement. I won’t let him stay that way and I move myself around him until he’s resting with his head on my chest again.

No matter how much we scream or cry, no one who passes us here will help. This is the city—you go into the alley if you want drugs or to die.

“Frank,” I whisper, petting his hair gently. He cries quietly, and then in time he goes silent. It isn’t long after that that he falls asleep.

I shift him gently onto the ground and crawl past him, aiming for the jeans he’d been wearing that they had tossed away. The jeans are baggy, making them easier to slide on. However, he still cries out in his sleep when I lift his hips to slide them on.

I feel my stomach churn when my hands come away wet with blood from his thighs after dressing him. When I pick him up, his pants are already becoming damp but his sleep has fallen into utter unconsciousness. He doesn’t whimper, he doesn’t move. If it weren’t for the pulse I can feel as I cradle him to my chest, I’d think he was dead.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frankie, my beautiful, beaten Frankie wakes up halfway home. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t cry either. He looks up at me confused and then lets his head loll back with no energy to support it. The quiet, pained sounds that accompany his breaths continue to be the only sounds he makes until I reach my apartment building.

“Frank?” I stand before the locked entrance, acknowledging that my keys are still, in fact, in my pocket. “Frankie?” This time, he groans softly in response and reopens his eyes. “I have to set you down to get out the keys.” When I speak, I start to cry again. I know moving him will hurt him, and he’s gone through enough.

He’s gone through so much yet he’s still so strong.

Frank fidgets in my grasp, almost as if he’s trying to worm away from me. Each motion makes him hiss and gasp, but he doesn’t cry out and his eyes have dried. 

“Let me stand,” he grunts in a raw and cracking voice. “I can stand.” He’s breathing shaky breaths—knowing how badly he’s going to hurt if I let him do what he wants. “I can stand,” he says again. “Please,” he adds on in a whisper. 

My arms and legs both shake as I lower him slowly. I keep his chest held securely against mine as I allow his legs to gently drop until his bare feet touch the cracked cement stoop. He moans softly, successfully biting back his screams of agony. 

I don’t release him all of the way. I still hold him tightly against my body so he’s not forced to support all of his weight at once. Gradually I let him go, catching him every time his legs give out and sobbing with him every time he calls out in pain, finally releasing him once I’m sure he won’t fall.

I unlock the front door of the building as quickly as I can after fumbling with my keys until my trembling fingers find the right one. I open it as far as it can go and prop it open with my foot as I pull Frankie back into my arms.

He may be able to stand, but I won’t even let him try to walk.

It seems like four years have passed by the time I reach my apartment. The key I need is already in my hand and I don’t need to set him down again to unlock the door. The sounds of pain that Frank had been making since I got him into the building only grew louder as I finally got him into my apartment. 

As I carried him to the bed, not bothering with the door behind us just yet, he burst into tears again. 

Once he’s placed on the bed, I immediately hurry to the door and close it tightly. I lock it in all three places—doorknob, deadbolt, and chain—and make sure that each one is secure before returning to him. 

Now that he’s here, now that he’s safe and doesn’t have to be moved, everything feels so much heavier. My mind doesn’t have to focus on taking gentle steps so my movements don’t jar his body, I don’t have to think about what would happen if, from the next alley we pass, another gang emerged and took him by force again. Now, I have to think about what’s been done, about what it is that’s making him sobs so hard in a voice that keeps breaking.

Frank has curled into a ball, his hands pressed up against his mouth and his eyes squeezed shut. His whole body is shaking—from his sobs, from his pain, from his fear, from the cold…

What do I do? 

I grab the part of the blanket that he isn’t laying on and cover him with it, allowing myself to stroke his shoulder once it’s in place. He moans softly in both pain and what I hope is comfort. His beautiful, broken eyes meet mine for the moment and then he closes them tightly again against a hard sob.

What do I do?

Call an ambulance? What if they think I did it? 

I did do it.

It’s my fault he’s like this.

I may as well have been the one ravaging him… Making him beg for death.

“Frank,” I sob, sitting on the floor beside the bed. I reach over and touch his hand. “Frankie,” I wail, trying to convey every thought I have into the only word I can form. I’m sorry, forgive me, I love you, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, I need you, what do you want me to do?

He looks at me, taking a few moments to quiet his sobs to shaking, heavy breaths.

“Frankie, I’m gonna get you a doctor, okay?” I stammer through my own tears. His eyes widen and he makes a strangled, horrified sound. He reaches out quickly with one of his hands and entwines his fingers with mine.

He doesn’t want me to go. After what I’ve done, he doesn’t want me to leave his sight.

“I’ll just call an ambulance, Frankie,” I whimper, placing my other hand over our clasped ones. Frank shakes his head firmly.

“I’m fine, Gee,” he chokes. “I’ll be okay. We don’t need to get others involved.” I don’t argue with him. I want him to stop speaking because his broken voice is crushing what’s left of my already broken heart. 

I nod, even though it’s a lie and he shifts his head a little closer to mine. Leaning further on the bed, I move my face closer to his, asking with my eyes for permission. 

Frank sucks on his bottom lip weakly, clearing some of the blood off of it before he moves his face closer to mine. Without hesitation but with a great deal of tenderness and reserve, I kiss his lips and he kisses back just as gently. 

He whimpers when I try to pull away, so I deepen the kiss. I suck on his bottom lips, but do nothing further when he opens his mouth for me. His tongue traces my lower lip for less than a second before he breaks away, sobbing loudly and burying his face in his hands.

My broken, beautiful Frankie tried to be strong. He wanted to pretend that we could still kiss like before, even after so much trauma, but it kills him when he can’t muster the strength to do it. 

I stroke his hair gently as he keeps his face hidden and his tears quiet. He’s shaking all over, but with time his breaths become even and he sleeps. I pull away from him and reach for my phone, calling first for an ambulance and then Ray—needing someone to talk to in order to keep from going insane while I wait for the sirens.

I don’t tell Ray what’s happened, only that Frank is hurt and that they’re going to take him to the hospital. Ray tries so hard to keep calm and to console me. Most of our conversation is just me weeping while he murmurs comforting things in my ear.

“He’ll be fine, Gerard,” Ray says. “He’s strong. He makes it through everything.” I want to express how uncertain I am, but the sirens are sounding and I tell him I’ll call him back. The knocks on the door wake Frankie and he looks at me betrayed when the officers and medics arrive. His resentment kills me and I hide my face from him, tugging my hair over my face and then covering it all with my hands.

The officers approach me and the medics fall upon Frank.

Frank tries to fight them when they come near, crying out that he’s _fucking_ fine, but his anger dies when the blanket is pulled away from him and he sees all of his blood. The medics aren’t as gentle with him as I was.

Still, they get him on the stretcher despite his fragmented, senseless curses and dirty looks. He doesn’t look at me when they take him away, and the officers won’t let me follow.

They stand in my doorway and block me from the hall. They want to ask me questions.

I want them to shoot me.

I want to die.


End file.
